


there, in the light

by xinteng



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:13:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24785989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xinteng/pseuds/xinteng
Summary: Yixing likes to categorize his life into three parts.Before,then, andafter.
Relationships: Lu Han/Zhang Yi Xing | Lay
Comments: 10
Kudos: 22





	there, in the light

_before_

The bass echoes loudly against the wooden flooring of the practice room and Yixing watches his own reflection in the mirror, a dark figure framed against sky-blue wallpaper with little white clouds floating by his head. The wallpaper was chosen not for its aesthetic appeal, he thinks, but rather to remind everyone— _the sky’s the limit!_ his manager likes to tell the entire group—what they’re here for.

Shaking his head, he switches off the lights to the room, unable to bear looking at his reflection anymore. It gets old, staring at yourself in the mirror hour after hour, picking out flaws and weaknesses that become more apparent the longer you look. He resumes his previous position and runs through the dance again, then again.

Yixing knows it’s late—Yifan and Minseok had left hours ago, citing hunger as their excuse—he’d been invited, but he’d declined and so they had gone, but not before telling him to stay only an hour or two more at most. He doesn’t know where Lu Han is—vocal training with Jongdae, probably. Tao had stayed with Yixing for a bit before he had deemed himself too tired to continue and gone with Sehun and Jongin, who had also been on their way out.

His waist aches—his old injury had never quite truly healed, he knows, but there’s no way around it—more dances to learn and a packed schedule never allow him to fully rest. Sweat drips down from his hairline, sliding down his neck and soaking into his shirt. The air conditioner is running, but he still feels hot, blood rushing beneath his skin, muscles aching and burning.

He closes his eyes. He keeps practicing.

.

The moon is bright overhead by the time Yixing collapses to the floor, exhausted. His waist feels like it’s on fire now, but it’s a small price to pay for the amount of improvement he’s managed to make today. The company building is probably empty now—hardly anyone stays this late besides the janitorial staff, and by now they’re familiar with his schedule, taking care to clean the practice room he likes to frequent last.

His stomach growls. He hopes he still has some snacks leftover from the last time his mom had sent him some food from home. Lu Han and Tao like to steal them when they think he’s not paying attention, but he doesn’t mind. He knows they’re all homesick too, and besides, Lu Han always treats him to food and Tao shares too when his dad sends packages.

He rolls over onto his stomach, swiping for his phone where he had tossed it on his jacket a few hours back. There are a couple missed calls from Yifan and Jongdae, and some texts as well. “Come home soon,” Yifan sent. “I left some dinner for you in your room.”

That had been hours ago. The others should be asleep by now—they’re all used to his practice schedule.

Quiet footsteps echo down the hallway outside and stop in front of the door to Yixing’s practice room.

The door opens—the light that spills in hurts his eyes, and all he can see is the achingly familiar silhouette of a boy not much taller than him, moving to lean against the doorframe.

_then_

“Let’s order food,” Tao suggests, and Minseok kicks at him half-heartedly, muttering something about diets. Lu Han sits up immediately, grinning from ear to ear, and Yixing’s hand drops into his lap, from where it had been carding through his hair absentmindedly. Jongdae calls out in agreement from the bathroom, and Yixing simply sighs before gesturing for Tao to go get the stash of delivery menus they have stored in their dorm.

“I want _huo guo_ ,” Lu Han says, and Yixing rolls his eyes at him.

“How are we going to get that delivered, Lu- _ge_?”

He pouts. It looks ridiculous on his face, but Yixing doesn’t bother to tell him. He knows. Lu Han does it anyways, just to spite him.

Lu Han’s body is comfortable, familiar, against the line of his own. Yixing likes to imagine that he can feel Lu Han’s heartbeat through where their bodies connect, as if his heartbeat will carry through all the layers of clothes, press itself against his skin until their hearts start beating as one.

Yixing closes his eyes—he wants to hold onto this moment, light pouring through the cracks in the blinds, illuminating every single speck of dust in the air, the curve of Lu Han’s smile, the small scar on his lip.

.

He had always known that Lu Han would leave.

It wasn’t that he was flighty, or insincere in his dedication. It wasn’t that at all. It was just a feeling that Yixing got sometimes, when he looked at Lu Han for too long and saw the bags beneath his eyes, the way his face turned pale on the plane before takeoff and during landing, how he squeezed Yixing’s hand beneath the armrest where no one else could see.

And then it was the way Lu Han’s eyes had looked, the moment they had finished their final bow after a concert and said their goodbyes, fans still screaming their names, and he had looked up, up into the crowd with their glittering lights that looked almost like stars, and Yixing had seen the way they had filled with wonder and awe and perhaps more than a little bit of sadness.

And so Yixing doesn’t know why hearing Lu Han say it, actually tell him that he’s leaving, hurts so much.

It’s late—their photoshoot had started behind time, some sort of problem with the props and equipment—their manager had been displeased, to put it nicely—and though normally Lu Han hates sharing his bed, Yixing is cuddled up next to him, pressed tight so he doesn’t fall off the twin sized mattress. His own bed stays empty just a few feet away, covers still peeled back and unkempt from this morning when he’d been too lazy to fold them neatly, unlike Lu Han, who does it first thing when he wakes up. He’s lying on his right side, Lu Han on his left, and they’re so close that Yixing imagines he can taste the black tea he had drunk, minutes earlier. It’s quiet.

Lu Han’s eyes are closed, and Yixing watches as his eyelashes flutter slightly with every inhale and exhale. He’s not asleep—Lu Han never lies this still in his sleep—and maybe it should be awkward, that Yixing’s just lying there, matching him breath for breath, but it’s not.

It never is, with him.

It’s when Yixing closes his own eyes that Lu Han finally speaks.

“I’m leaving.”

Yixing keeps his eyes closed. His breath stutters in his chest, gets caught somewhere after his throat but before his lungs, no longer in sync with Lu Han’s, and he struggles to breathe in again, then breathe out.

He supposes he’s always known Lu Han would leave.

“Okay, Lu- _ge,_ ” is all he says, in the end, but it’s enough. Lu Han understands. Slowly, he reaches his hand out to grasp Lu Han’s, a little smaller than his, pressing their palms together.

Lu Han shifts closer to him.

They lie there, in the dark, listening to each other’s heartbeat.

.

The day that Lu Han packs his bags, Yixing is there to help.

They dig through the closet, going through Yixing’s as well, because Lu Han has a tendency of mixing up their laundry. They rummage through the bookshelves as well, packing up little figurines and action figures that they had collected together over the years.

When they’re finished, the dorm looks a little emptier. Sadder. Yixing hadn’t known just how much Lu Han had wormed his way into his life, made a home of his heart and taken root, until he’s gone, excavated, root and all. The loss leaves him staggering.

“This isn’t goodbye,” Lu Han says, but they both know it’s not true. It _is_ goodbye—maybe not in so many words, but it is goodbye to many things that they had grown comfortable with in the last few years. The way Yixing woke Lu Han up in the mornings, the stern way Lu Han reminded Yixing to take his medications, the way Lu Han stole his snacks when he didn’t think Yixing was paying attention. Their ritual of drinking tea together, black for Lu Han and green for Yixing, when they couldn’t sleep. The way they take turns playing pranks on Minseok, who always takes it in good stride, the accidental-but-maybe-on-purpose matching at airports.

Yixing nods.

“This is for you,” he holds out a spare flash drive he had begged their manager to buy for him, the other day. “I went through the songs we made and the ones you sang demos for and put them on here.”

Lu Han looks touched, and though he’ll deny it years after, Yixing swears he looks teary-eyed. “Thank you.” He accepts the flash drive gratefully, holding it gently like it’s something precious beyond imagination.

Below, the car honks, a sign that Lu Han needs to go. Yixing’s throat tightens. All the words he had wanted to say seem to have gotten stuck, and though he tries, he cannot push them out.

They stare at each other for a minute more. The car honks again.

Suddenly, Lu Han pulls him in a fierce hug. Through his thin shirt, Yixing can feel each one of Lu Han’s ribs, and he squeezes tighter, tight enough to rival the ache in his chest. He buries a hand in Lu Han’s hair, breathes in.

His aftershave is familiar.

When the car honks again, Lu Han lets go. Yixing pretends not to notice the wetness on his shoulder. They have matching stains on their shirts. He wipes his eyes furiously. He refuses to have his last good look at Lu Han be blurred through tears.

Lu Han grabs his suitcase, knuckles clenched white around the handle and turns to leave. Yixing listens to the rattle of the suitcase on the stairs, a loud _knock knock knock_ as they travel down the steps. He runs to the window, leans his head out so he can see below.

Lu Han’s figure is small from where he stands. Yixing’s heart squeezes painfully. He watches as Lu Han loads his suitcase into the back.

“Lu- _ge_ ,” he yells. Lu Han looks back up at him, smiles, and waves.

 _I’ll see you soon_ , he mouths.

Yixing watches as the black car carrying his best friend turns the corner, and leaves.

_after_

The airport is quiet today—he’d managed to book a flight and arrive discreetly, rushing from one schedule to the next, and he’s glad for the reprieve. He loves his fans, he does, but sometimes it gets overwhelming, having them press in on all sides, knowing that he has to smile for the numerous pictures that will be posted all over social media in a few hours. It’s nice to be able to walk through public spaces without fear of anyone getting hurt.

From the corner of his eye, he spies a big pink poster to his left. _Chuang 2020_ , it reads. Blown up big are four figures—two of whom he knows intimately, though he hasn’t seen them in years. In typical Lu Han fashion, the man with a sports jacket staring into the camera looks like he’s hardly aged, though if Yixing peers closer, he can see the faint wrinkles at the corners of his eyes despite the layers of makeup and photoshop.

He had overheard some of his staff members talking a few days ago about the news that Lu Han and Tao would be mentors this year on a rival idol produce show, but seeing their poster staring him straight in the face is a different story. His stomach twists—half amusement, half nostalgia—and unbidden, he remembers long nights spent in practice rooms, the six of them lying on each other, food untouched, too tired to even eat.

Yixing looks away and keeps walking, one foot forward at a time towards the exit.

.

Lu Han texts him, later that night. “I heard you’re mentoring again,” the text reads. The brightness of his phone screen hurts Yixing’s eyes, in the dim light. “Funny, isn’t it?” In the quiet, it’s easy to pretend that it’s Lu Han sitting across from him, a small cup of black tea wafting steam into his face, covering his eyes. “It’s weird, to be their mentor. I keep thinking about how we were the ones there, once, and how you practiced day and night, and we had to run back and forth between classes and Yifan would always scold us and that one night, when the managers let us have a day off and we went to the Han river and rode our bikes far into the distance, until we couldn’t recognize anything anymore.”

Yixing remembers, too. His lungs feel tight, like he’s there with Lu Han, pedaling and pedaling, racing him down the street and feeling like he could pedal till the edge of the world.

He stares at the text.

Lu Han types, pauses a bit, starts, then stops typing again.

Yixing puts his phone face down next to him and turns off the light.

.

In his dreams, he remembers Lu Han, twenty-one years old, leaning against the door to the practice room, the hallway light spilling across his shoulders. It should’ve been impossible to see his face, but Yixing knows exactly what expression Lu Han is wearing, knows, because he _knows_ Lu Han.

Lu Han stretches out a hand to him, waiting.

His voice is soft.

“Come home, Yixing.”

 _Come home_.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. :)  
> 2\. not sure how/why i seem to always post the emo fics at 1am  
> 3\. unedited etc etc  
> 4\. _huo guo_ is hot pot in mandarin, _ge_ means older brother  
> 5\. perhaps one day in the future i will come back and rework this into something longer 
> 
> find me here:  
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/staryxz)  
> [curious cat](https://curiouscat.me/yixingzhang)


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